


Lost

by rethrin



Category: Franklin & Bash
Genre: Abduction, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mental Breakdown, Physical Abuse, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rethrin/pseuds/rethrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They wouldn't hurt Jared, that was what everyone said to him.  They wouldn't hurt him, because they wanted their own boy back.  They wouldn't hurt him, because they wanted to negotiate.  They wouldn't hurt him, because it would only cause them more trouble.  </p><p>Every time they said it Peter could only hear what they weren't saying, they wouldn't hurt him <em>too much</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Hope_Calaris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/works)
> 
> Some not very pleasant things happen to Jared in this fic, physical and mental abuse. It's all 'off screen', the fic is about him recovering afterwards, rather than what happens while he's there. But there are hints about some of the abuse he's suffered throughout, and eventually more explicit descriptions.

Peter watched the clock, methodically destroying everything inside him that threatened to move or feel or speak. He watched the clock, and it kept flicking numbers over, and the phone didn't ring, and he forced everything he felt into silence, and sat perfectly still. It passed half past six, which was four hours, and then it passed quarter to seven, which was four hours and a quarter. He closed his eyes and watched as the white patches behind his lids slowly took over and then he stayed there for a while, quietly smothering every thought and sound and movement. When he opened his eyes it was gone five to seven, which was four hours and twenty eight minutes. And the phone didn't ring, and Peter didn't move. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

They wouldn't hurt Jared, that was what everyone said to him. They wouldn't hurt him, because they wanted their own boy back. They wouldn't hurt him, because they wanted to negotiate. They wouldn't hurt him, because it would only cause them more trouble. 

Every time they said it Peter could only hear what they weren't saying, they wouldn't hurt him _too much_. 

Most kidnap victims were recovered safely. He should let the police do their job. They had no _reason_ to hurt Jared. There was nothing he could do to help. He shouldn't worry. Everything would be fine. He shouldn't worry. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Carmen was crying and Peter looked at her blankly, wishing she wouldn't. 

"I talked to the police," she said, "Peter can you hear me? Are you okay?"

He turned away again and looked at the clock. 

"Peter, they haven't found him. It's been nearly five hours. They're still looking, but..." She gestured hopelessly. 

The time limit had been four hours. Four hours at the outside, that's what they'd said, three and a half hours, maybe four if he was lucky. They'd said Peter had to stay here because it might be dangerous and he would be in the way and he shouldn't interfere with police procedures, and then they'd said they would find him and that he should trust them, and they hadn't found him and Peter sat quietly and looked at the clock and pressed down everything that was inside him, that threatened to make this real. He closed his eyes again. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

It had taken Peter an age to understand what the police were saying to him that first day. Jared hadn't been kidnapped, they were being ridiculous. He'd got lucky somewhere and not come home last night. He'd stayed at someone's house. He was skiving because he hated their client and was being bitchy about it. But most of all, when they told him about the letter, about the threats, Peter barely felt anything, and if Jared had been kidnapped Peter would have felt something. So they had to be wrong.

They said that Leonard had had a letter, which said that nothing would happen to Jared so long as Billy Thompson was kept safe. And that they'd get him back the moment they released Thompson. And that if any harm came to Thompson in prison, that harm would come to Jared too. Repeatedly. 

Billy Thompson had been Leonard's client, he'd been sent away for two consecutive life terms. The family blamed Leonard, and so Thompson's father had taken Jared. A son for a son.

It took hours before it began to sink in. 

He went to the police and demanded that they let him see Billy Thompson, but they refused. They told him to go home and let them do their job.

He went home and waited for Jared to come back and for this all to be a mistake, but by then he could feel the world slowly morphing into a place where this was real, and there were little daggers in his stomach that said his best friend was in real trouble, was far away from him, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

That was three weeks ago.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter hated the cave. He went to the office and stayed there for days, he slept in his office when he could sleep at all. He learned everything he could about Billy Thompson, and his fucking bastard of a father, Sullivan. He got details about Thompson's trial, about the family. He worked through case files, desperately looking for anything that might help the police, or that might convince the courts to release Billy. 

Debbie put a cup of coffee in front of him, and some toast. 

"Have the police called?" he asked without looking up.

"No, I'll let you know as soon as anyone calls." She paused, slightly awkwardly and he knew she wanted to offer him meaningless words of comfort again, and he tensed and let her. "It'll be okay, Peter, they'll find him." 

He nodded distractedly. People kept saying that to him, that it would be okay, as if he didn't know. As if there was some alternative. As if he could let anything happen to Jared.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

They babysat him on some sort of rota. Always someone with him, Damien, Hanna, Debbie. Sometimes Infeld. Sometimes Carmen. They sat in Jared's chair, and said meaningless things.

Damien was there when Leonard came in. Peter looked up, and everything ratcheted one step tighter inside him. Peter was exhausted and Leonard was neat and clean, his clothes pressed and immaculate, he looked like he did every other day of the year, and Jared had been missing for a week, anything might have happened to him. Leonard had no right looking like that, and Peter wanted to hurt him. He wanted to shake him. He wanted to knock him out and deliver him to the bastard who had Jared, a straight swap. He glared, but Leonard looked right through him, the way he always had. 

"I'm here to see Stanton," Leonard said to Damien. 

"I'll show you through," Damien said, and began to lead him out.

"Don't," Peter said as Leonard turned to leave. His throat was tight, his voice pathetically quiet. "Has anything new happened, have you heard something?" 

Every word was painful because there were answers he didn't want. But all the same he would beg if he had to. The police didn't talk to him, not properly. Leonard was Jared's next of kin; Peter was nothing. They'd made it quite clear that they couldn't share sensitive information with anyone who wasn't _family_. It had taken Peter whole minutes to work out they meant him. 

Leonard looked at Peter then, and for a moment Peter was sure he wasn't going to tell him. That he was going to enjoy not telling him. And if he did that Peter was going to beat the shit out of him. 

"It's nothing new," Leonard said after a moment. He shook his head, and turned to follow Damien. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

At some point after that Carmen had turned up and manhandled him into the car and back home to the cave. He stood in the shower for nearly forty minutes. Carmen brought him soup, but it was cold by the time he tasted it. Eventually he woke up, which meant he must have slept.

He spent a lot of time in Jared's room, picking things up. Pindar had tidied it and cleaned it, ready for when Jared came back. Peter couldn't hate him for it, because it was his way of coping, but he hated that nothing was quite where Jared had left it, it didn't look right.

He hated being at home, the cave was ridiculous without Jared in it. It looked childish. And messy. And Peter wanted to break everything. Carmen blocked the door for two days, made him rest. But then he went back to the office.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Days later there was a parcel, leaking blood. It was sent to Jared's mom. It turned out to be a pig's ear, but the letter said that next time it would be Jared's. His ear, or a finger. Or a toe. They wanted their son back, and they were getting tired of waiting. 

Peter thought he would drown, the panic filled his throat. Jared's mom called to let him know, she cried when she told him, but he couldn't think of anything to say to her. Hanna took the phone off him, and spoke to her instead. After she hung up Peter asked her what he should do now, and she shook her head and didn't know. Peter hated her. He hated everyone. He pushed the panic away and filled the gaps it left with anger.

He called the police, he knew he was shouting but he couldn't think why he shouldn't. They weren't doing anything. He demanded to see Billy. If he could talk to Billy he could sort this out, he could make him see how they weren't hurting Leonard, just him. If he could talk to Billy he could get Jared back. But the police kept saying they didn't think it was a good idea. 

He went to see Infeld, who could pull some strings, he liked Jared, he'd want to help. But Infeld talked to him as if he was an idiot, said he should wait, and trust the police. That they had to be careful. That he shouldn't fucking worry.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter stayed at the office, there was nothing left he could do. The police wouldn't talk to him, no one would let him talk to Billy, Janie wouldn't help him. But he didn't want to be at home. Infeld called him into his office, and told him he had to leave. That Carmen was coming to get him, that he wasn't allowed to stay here any more, it wasn't good for him apparently. Peter stared at him blankly. Nothing was good for him, why did it matter where he was?

Leonard came in without knocking. He spent a lot of his time in Infeld's office now, but Peter didn't know why or what they were doing. 

Peter looked at him, and felt relief as anger filled him. Feeling anything except helpless felt good now. 

"This is your fault," Peter said. Because it was true and because he wanted to fight with someone and because he hated him and because Leonard's hair was combed.

Infeld went to speak, but Leonard shook his head. "It's alright, I'm quite used to his emotional outbursts."

"If anything happens to him, I'll.." His words stopped short because nothing would happen to Jared. 'If anything happened to him' was a different world, one Peter wasn't thinking about at all.

"Don't pretend this matters more to you than it does to me," Leonard said. "He's my only son. The police will find him and I don't think he'll be hurt so long as he doesn't do anything stupid. Just because I'm not tearing my hair out and crying like some ten year old boy doesn't mean I don't care."

"No." Peter wanted to spit at him. "But thirty years of badgering him does. Ignoring everything he was and concentrating on the small, stupid things he wasn't."

Leonard looked at him as if he was twelve again, and Peter felt foolish and weak, but his anger that Leonard could still do that was good, it filled in a few more of the gaps inside him.

"Neither of you really learned when to keep your mouths shut, did you?" Leonard said. "You always encouraged each other to play the wise-ass, rather than growing up. I suspect that's a trait that isn't helping my son right now, I doubt they're taking kindly to his mouthing off, do you?"

Peter couldn't move, he was too heavy and his skin was tight. For a moment he looked at Infeld, suddenly desperate for meaningless words, he'll be okay, they won't hurt him, he'll be okay. But he shook it off almost at once.

"You always wanted to take him away from me, didn't you? You're probably thrilled." That was an awful thing to say, Peter thought somewhere at the back of his mind, but most of him loved seeing Leonard flinch at the words, wanted him to hurt, wanted him to feel some of this so that Peter didn't have to. "No wonder he hates you."

Leonard half stepped forwards, as if he was going to attack Peter, and Peter hoped for it, wanted a fight more than he ever had in his life. But Leonard stopped himself. "Don't ever talk about my boy like that."

"He's not yours, he never was." And Peter knew he did sound like a ten year old then, he just didn't care.

"That's enough," Infeld said, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder. 

Leonard turned to the door. "You didn't even notice he was missing for over twenty hours," he said as he left. "You can blame me all you like, but you two always act like you're so close, where were you when he really needed you?"

Peter felt the words gripping his throat, and he stared after him, lost. Gaps opening up again where the anger had felt so good.

"His son's been taken, Peter," Infeld said in a low voice. "He is feeling that. However you might feel about him, this is difficult for him, he didn't mean what he said any more than you did." 

But Peter knew he'd meant most of what he said, he was sure Leonard did too. Peter should have been there. Should have done something.

Carmen showed up not long after that and Peter went with her, ignoring everyone's pitying looks on the way out. He hated all of them. He went home and Carmen and Pindar didn't say any stupid, reassuring things at all. They poured him a drink and then another. They drank most of the night, and Carmen made him eat. He slept in Jared's bed, curled around a pillow.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

And then, eventually, there was a video. They were going to bury Jared. Tomorrow. The video showed him alive - badly beaten and hurt, very weak, but awake. And it showed a coffin. They were going to bury him, and then if they got Billy back they would tell the police how to find him. 

Otherwise he'd suffocate. In the ground. On his own. And nobody would know where he was. 

Peter asked the police if he could see the video but they wouldn't let him, they couldn't share sensitive information with people who weren't family. He nodded as if he understood, and hung up. 

He started crying and couldn't stop. He cried all day, exhausting himself. Sometimes he stopped for a minute and thought he could hold together again, but his whole body ached with a pain he couldn't even find, he had to concentrate on breathing or he forgot to, and tears came from nowhere, blocking his nose, blocking his throat. He sat and cried.

They sat up together all night, and barely spoke. Peter eventually fell asleep, his body exhausted. When he woke up Pindar and Carmen were curled together, one or both of them crying quietly. Peter wanted to go and join them, but a deeper part of him couldn't. He knew that if he started crying again he would _never_ stop. So he sat apart from them and waited. Tomorrow Jared would come home and this would all be over and everything would be fine. He learned how not to cry. He learned to sit quietly and wait.

That was yesterday.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

When sunlight started filtering through the clouds, Peter's teeth were aching. He worked consciously to unclench his jaw. 

He started shutting down everything inside himself, quietly ignoring the things that hurt, piece by piece, until he was quiet. He was rocking back and forwards, only a little, but he couldn't stop and then didn't know why he should stop. He was imagining the door opening and Jared being there and it kept not happening. His fingernails dug into his palms, and he concentrated on that. 

Until it was half past two. And the phone didn't ring. Then it was half past six. Then quarter to seven. Then seven o'clock. Then half past seven, which was five hours. 

And Peter counted time and didn't think.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

"Peter, can you hear me?"

He nodded again. He'd heard her, he'd heard her every time. But what could he possibly say? They hadn't found him. They said they would find him and so he'd sat here and done nothing and Jared had needed him and now --

He dived deep inside himself, until he remembered not to think about . . about Jared, just to think about the pain, nothing about where it came from. 

"Peter," Carmen's voice was so soft, he knew she was scared, he knew he wasn't acting properly, he knew there was something he should do, a word or an action. "It was empty, the coffin was empty... Pindy, I think we need to get a doctor."

It took him a few minutes. He turned to look at her. "Empty?"

She nodded and sat on the table in front of him, held his hands. "They found the coffin Peter, but Jared wasn't there, he wasn't buried there."

The phone rang again but Peter couldn't hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears. 

He heard Pindar speaking in a rush "- - taking him to the hospital now, we should go." 

Carmen was stroking Peter's hair, hugging him close.

"They found him, Peter," Pindar said slowly. "Did you hear me?"

Peter nodded without really understanding, Pindar had said 'him' and he'd said 'hospital' and 'him' was Jared, and . . . you wouldn't send a corpse to the hospital. He'd have said morgue. He had definitely said hospital. 

"He's okay, Peter. We have to go to the hospital. He's okay," Carmen pulled him up by the arm and she was shaking. "Are you going to be alright, Pindar?"

Pindar must have nodded because he came with them. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter didn't make a noise from the cave to the hospital, not even on the inside. Pindar told him that they'd found Jared by the side of the road. Sullivan mustn't have been prepared to face a murder charge after all. Peter barely heard, he was still deep inside himself, couldn't come out, not until he was sure. 

The nurse tried to keep him in reception, but he didn't understand anything she was saying and he couldn't breathe. He pushed past her and into the corridor, looking into every room, round every curtain. 

Jared was surrounded by doctors and nurses, hooking him up to machines and drips. Peter put his head against the window into the room. Jared was bruised and cut, his body covered with blood and dirt. But he was breathing. And close. Peter looked at him, barely dared to blink. He waited to feel relief and reassurance, but when they came they were tiny small feelings he hardly noticed. Everything was overwhelmed by the sudden flood of certainty that he was going to kill everyone who had anything to do with this, he was going to find them, every one, and kill them. He was going to kill anyone who ever hurt Jared ever again. He felt faint. He watched Jared breathing, and forced himself to breathe with him.

  


* * *

  


They kept Jared asleep for days, giving his body time to mend. The first time he woke up properly - for more than a few confused seconds - he saw Peter asleep on the chair next to him. He closed his eyes; he wasn't allowed to think about Peter. 

When he opened them again Peter was still there, still sleeping. His hand was on the bed, Jared reached out and stroked his fingers over Peter's wrist. Peter felt real and warm, and Jared thought that meant other things were real as well, the bed, the blankets. 

Jared closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, he wanted Peter to wake up, he wanted to be safe, he wanted to stay here, he didn't want them to hurt him any more, but he wasn't allowed to want things, and they would know. And it didn't make sense anyway, Peter couldn't make him safe, he couldn't stop them hurting him, they could take him back, that's what they always said, it didn't matter if he got away, they'd just bring him back. The things he wanted were ridiculous. 

Peter shouldn't be here. Nor should Jared. They'd take him back, they'd be furious, they'd punish him. Jared wasn't allowed to leave the corner. He let go of Peter's hand.

Peter woke up after a few minutes and when he saw Jared watching him, he smiled so so clearly and fully that Jared almost smiled back without thinking. 

"Hey," Peter said.

Jared stared at him, wondering if this was a trap. There were tears in Peter's eyes which Jared hated. 

"You're safe," Peter said. It was a trap.

Jared looked at the drip, and the rest of the room. 

"You're in the hospital, you're safe. You've been asleep for a while."

Jared held his breath, he wasn't supposed to sleep. He shouldn't be here. They'd find him, and they'd be angry that he'd left. But he didn't say anything. 

Peter called for a nurse, who came and asked Jared questions and gave him ice chips. By the time she finished he'd fallen back to sleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

They asked him questions. The police and the doctors. He had to tell them what happened, but he didn't always know. They said he didn't have to go back, but that didn't make sense. He _knew_ he did, he knew they were lying. If he didn't remember, if he didn't answer everything, they would send him back. He told them everything, as much as he could, again and again. They knew it humiliated him and they kept asking. They promised him they wouldn't tell anyone, not Peter, not his dad, but they were lying. They said it was important to tell them everything. They said it was so they could help him, but it felt like a test and he was terrified of failing. 

Doctor Harper was a trauma counsellor, and she was the worst. She knew everything about him when she got there. "I've read your file." He hated her just for that. And her test was the hardest; she didn't ask questions but she wanted answers anyway. He had to tell her everything or she put marks on a bit of paper and he knew she would show them to someone and he would be punished. She didn't just want answers about what had happened, she wanted to know what was happening now, what he was thinking, if he was being good. 

He knew she wanted to take Peter away from him, she asked if he was scared of Peter and he didn't know the right answer to start with, but then he remembered that he should be scared of everything, they'd told him, they'd made sure he learned. She wrote it on a piece of paper. He lay very still whenever she came; he told her everything.

Peter visited every day. For one hour. He looked forward to him coming, but he knew that was wrong. He felt sick. Wanting to see Peter was like wanting to escape, he wasn't allowed to want things. He tried not to think about Peter except when he was there.

To begin with Peter had asked him questions as well, he'd asked him if he was okay, and how he was doing, and if he wanted anything. They were all tests. But after a few days he'd stopped. Now he talked to him about nothing and made jokes and didn't leave, even when Jared was too scared to talk to him. When Peter was there Jared didn't have to try as hard. Peter didn't want him to break any rules, he didn't try to trick him. It wasn't his fault Peter visited, but he knew he would be punished for it, for enjoying it. He wasn't supposed to be here and he wasn't supposed to think about Peter. 

"Okay, I think the nurse is going to call security on me if I stay any longer, I'd better get going." 

Peter smiled at Jared, and stood up. He paused awkwardly, his hand hovering over Jared's arm, Jared couldn't breathe. But Peter didn't touch him any more, he always remembered. He stroked the covers on the bed, carefully not touching Jared, just the covers, just for a second. And he went to leave.

Jared watched him, the fear crawling up his back, his throat thick, he knew they'd only let Peter come so that they could take him away again. He wouldn't come back and Jared would be here on his own with all their questions. He'd never see him again. 

"Are you coming back tomorrow?" It was pathetic, because Peter would have told him if he was, he must sound pathetic, Peter must hate him. 

For a split second Peter stared at him, then he nodded a few times and he had tears in his eyes, Jared knew he hated visiting him. "Yes. At seven. I'll see you then."

Fear spread and thickened over Jared's skin, crawling into his mouth. Peter knew he had broken the rules, he was disappointed, disgusted. Jared _knew_ he would tell someone. He'd tell people that Jared was misbehaving, that he had asked for something, that he should be punished. They'd take him away. 

Peter left, and Jared lay still and waited for them to come for him.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

One time he woke up and Peter was already there, talking to a doctor by the door. He looked at the clock, terrified he'd slept through all of Peter's visit. 

"..I can't look after him here," Peter said, and Jared lay still so they wouldn't know he was awake.

"I know you're worried for your friend." There was that odd leaning on 'friend' that people did sometimes, when they didn't understand. "But I assure you, we're looking after him very well, he needs to be observed for a few more--"

"Then let me stay with him. For fuck's sake, he's terrified and he won't even tell me what about. I need to . . ." Peter trailed off, and the doctor put a hand on his arm.

"He's been through a lot, you just need to give him time."

"He never talks about what happened . ."

Jared clenched his jaw, ready to scream if the doctor told him. Peter would leave if he knew, he would never come back. But the doctor was already shaking his head. "I know it's difficult, but he'll tell you when he's ready."

"I don't know how to help him when you hardly let me see him." Peter sounded tired, and scared. The thought of Peter being scared made Jared feel sick.

"He's receiving excellent care, Mr Bash, you really don't need to worry."

Peter shook his head, and was going to speak again, but then he caught sight of Jared watching them. Peter smiled at him, and turned away from the doctor, ignoring him. He sat in the chair by Jared's bed and asked if he'd caught any of the Jackie Chan marathon last night. Jared hadn't, he didn't watch the tv when Peter wasn't there. Peter talked to him as if nothing was wrong, as if Jared was only here to have his tonsils out again, or his appendix. Jared listened. He tried to join in, sometimes he knew the words he should say, words that would fit so perfectly into the gaps Peter left, but he couldn't get them past his throat. 

He wondered if Peter hated him for that.

Whenever Peter left now he said he would be coming back the next day and told Jared when. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Doctor Harper, the counsellor, came all the time. Jared hated her. He made mistakes, he told her he was scared, that he wanted to escape, that he'd tried. She wrote it all down. She still asked about Peter a lot, and Jared was exhausted. 

"Please don't take him away," he said eventually, and then he stared at her, terrified, because he wasn't supposed to want things. Terrified more because he was going to fight her. If she tried to take Peter away he would fight her, and he wasn't supposed to fight back, that was one of the easiest rules. 

"Do you think Peter would leave you, if I told him to?" she asked.

"Of course," he said.

Jared knew that Peter wouldn't _want_ to hurt him. But he _knew_ he'd give him back to them eventually, and that if Jared was bad it would come sooner. He knew that it wasn't Peter's fault, Peter wouldn't want to send him away, but he'd have no choice, because it was where Jared belonged, Peter knew that, everyone knew that. 

Jared knew that Doctor Harper wanted him to forget the things he knew from Sullivan, the things he'd learned there. That was a trap and Jared had to be careful. He was allowed to say the things she wanted to hear, so long as he was lying. He told her he knew they couldn't find him, and it was a lie. He told her he hated them, but he remembered to make it a lie, because they took care of him. He remembered not to hate them, or to wish they were dead. They always knew. He told her he knew it was over, but that was a lie.

Jared kept hold of the real things, the things he _knew_ deep inside, where it counted. He wouldn't forget the rules, he'd behave. They'd make him go back eventually, and they'd know he'd been good.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Jared went home after a month. 

His ribs still hadn't mended, but he could move his fingers now. His bruising was mostly gone, and his cuts and infections were healing. They wanted him to stay, they were still concerned about his internal bruising and wanted to observe him. But Jared wanted a door that locked, a room where people didn't come in when he was sleeping. And he wanted to be near Peter, although he tried not to think it. He wasn't supposed to want things, but what he wanted most of all was to be good. He couldn't do it here, there were other rules, too many tests. Jared knew they'd take him back, and he knew how angry they would be if they found him here. If they saw him here. He had to leave.

He signed early release forms, he was shaking, but he forced himself. Then he dressed and waited for Peter in reception. Barely breathing. Wondering when they would find out. When they would come to take him back.

Peter smiled when he saw him, and the force of the hope and relief in his face made Jared take a step backwards. He knew Peter wanted him home, but more than that he wanted him to be happy and to be normal. Peter wanted his friend back, and Jared felt like he'd killed him and Peter just didn't know yet, but he'd find out. This new Jared would disappoint him. He'd be furious.

"Hey," Peter said, "You escaping?" 

Jared nodded, trying to avoid looking at Peter's eyes. "I want to go home."

Peter nodded, but he looked at the doctors, his eyes cautious. They'd tell him Jared was misbehaving, he would side with them and make Jared stay. He didn't want him at home at all, and Jared couldn't blame him. He would have to stay here, then he would go back _there_. Peter would leave him there.

"Is he okay to come home?"

"It's against medical advice," the doctor replied.

Peter frowned and looked at Jared again. Jared could hardly breathe, he should have stayed in bed, and Peter would have come and visited him, he wouldn't be angry with him, he'd have stayed at least for an hour. He should have done what he was told. Peter's eyes narrowed.

"Has he signed the papers?" Peter asked the doctor, who must have nodded. "Come on then, buddy" he said to Jared. "The car's out front."

Jared swallowed and felt the real world slide back into his head for a moment. Peter wouldn't hurt him. He followed him out of the hospital, and to the car. Jared hated being outside. 

In the car, when they were nearly home, he forced himself to speak. He knew he shouldn't, he hated how easy it was to speak to Peter. "The doctor said I can go back. If I need to."

He saw Peter nod slowly out of the corner of his eye. "Course," Peter said, lightly.

"It won't . . . I can't . ." He didn't even know what he was trying to say, sorry probably. Sorry I still can't touch you, sorry I'm being difficult, I know you must hate me. "Sorry."

"What for?" Peter tried to look at Jared while still keeping his eye on the road. Jared turned and stared out the side window, feeling very small. He didn't say anything, because he was sorry for everything. "It's okay," Peter said eventually. "Whatever you need."

Jared didn't have anything to say to that either, it didn't make any sense, it was another trap.

  


* * *

  


For a while having Jared at home felt like having his whole world back in place. There was a glow inside Peter that came just from knowing where he was, knowing that nobody could touch him. He didn't want him to go back to the hospital, the hospital was so far away and so full of people. But he had actually seen more of him when he was there. 

He frowned at Jared's bedroom door, and wondered if Jared might let him have his visits again. One hour a day when he was allowed to look at him, watch him breathe. 

But this was why Jared had come home, so that he could be alone and quiet. He'd explained that to Peter, looking at the floor, mumbling. And Peter had wanted to grab him and _hold him_ until he was okay again, until he was himself. But he hadn't. And now he only saw him for two minutes a day, when Jared came out to get his dinner or to use the bathroom. So Peter didn't know what Jared was doing, didn't really know if he was okay. He just wanted an hour, but he didn't even know how to ask. 

Peter did small things. He bought Jared's favourite foods, and he cooked for him. He learned to cook vegetables, and casseroles, things that would be good for him. Jared only ate once a day. He'd come out of his room and collect the plate Peter made for him. He'd barely look at Peter, but he'd take his plate and bring it back empty the next day. 

Peter played his favourite music, knowing Jared would be able to hear it in his room. He wrote to him sometimes, small notes, or long letters, but he didn't give them to him. He left post-its in the bathroom, telling Jared where Carmen was when she went away for a day, telling him when the guy was coming round to look at the meters so he'd know if he heard any strange noises, anything like that. Sometimes just telling him what was for dinner, or something he'd seen, something he'd read. Anything he thought might make Jared smile. 

"He still in there?" Carmen asked, dropping onto the settee next to him.

Peter nodded, dragging his eyes away from Jared's door. "Says he's fine. Just needs some quiet."

Peter tried to accept not being included as 'quiet' in Jared's mind, but he ached inside. Everything in his body wanted to be in Jared's room, with him, near him. Jared not wanting that too felt like the universe sliding away from him. 

"He'll talk to you when he's ready," Carmen said. "Just give him some time."

Peter nodded, people kept saying that. You shouldn't worry, they'd said before. Now it was, just give him some time. And he would. As much time as Jared needed. But he didn't know if it was working, and Jared had been home for five days and he'd signed himself out against his doctor's wishes, and now anything could be wrong with him and Peter wouldn't even know. Peter figured he should probably call a doctor and make them look at him, but he knew Jared would hate him for that. And if he hated Peter he would leave, and then Peter wouldn't be able to look after him. So he didn't call a doctor. He made lists in his head of everything that might be wrong, and worried about them in turn. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Jared woke up screaming. It wasn't the first time, and Peter was in the corridor in an instant, so he could be that little bit closer. He didn't knock on Jared's door, because Jared wouldn't open it. So he just stood and listened to Jared waking up, calming down. He felt another surge of anger, fury towards Sullivan and the others, a need to wrap his hands around their throats. He ignored it, it was just something he lived with now, the knowledge that he wanted to kill people. It still felt alien, a whole part of him that had never existed before. But when he mentioned it to people they all said it was normal and that it would fade. 

He knew it wouldn't.

He leaned his head against the wall, listening to see if Jared was okay. He had to fight not to break down the door. He had to fight not to cry. He was still there a few minutes later when Jared opened his door.

Jared's skin was so pale where the bruising had healed, and the heavier bruises were still there, paler now, but Peter could see them under the edge of Jared's sleeve, his collar. There were other marks, more obvious now the bruising was fading, cuts and scars, mostly hidden by Jared's pyjamas. Peter wanted to check every inch of him. He stared unthinkingly, the way he always did when he saw Jared now. Desperately searching for anything that might mean he was getting worse, anything that might mean he was getting better. 

"I was just making sure you were okay," he said, apologising for being in the corridor.

Jared stared at the floor and held out his hand as if keeping Peter from coming too close, even though Peter didn't move. 

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, and took a long breath. "I know I'm being difficult. If you want . . would it be easier if I left?"

Peter's stomach fell away and his chest tightened. "Back to the hospital, you mean?"

Jared shook his head, no. "Away. I could go to a hotel, or somewhere."

Peter was shaking his head without even thinking about it, but he forced out words. "Is that really what you need?"

Jared was still looking at the floor, but now he moved towards the bathroom, walking past Peter, carefully leaving space between them. "I have no idea what I need," he said very quietly, and went to shut the door behind him. 

" _I_ can go. If it would help," Peter said softly, feeling like the earth was moving too fast. 

Jared didn't look at him, he stopped still for a moment and then just shut the door. Peter went back to his room, not knowing what that meant. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter scrambled to wake up, it was early morning, he checked the clock, half past five, and Jared clearly hadn't slept. He'd come in without knocking, and was standing by the door, looking lost. Peter wondered if he was going to be sick, if he was ill. He sat up, pushing the blankets aside.

"Jared, are you-"

"If you stay I'll do whatever you want," Jared said in a rush.

" _What?_ "

"If you stay I'll do whatever you want," he repeated, they sounded like words he'd rehearsed. "I'll be normal again, or . . . or I'll be whatever you want." He took a broken breath, and turned to the side, so he was talking to the wall more than Peter. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Please, just don't leave yet."

"Why would .." Then he remembered their conversation last night. "Jared, I'm not going to go anywhere. Not unless you ask me to." 

He was standing up without even thinking, but he forced himself not to go towards him, not to crowd him. A horrible part inside him just wanted to touch Jared, to hold him, and right now Jared might let him, might let him do anything. Peter forced himself to stand still.

Jared's whole body relaxed slightly as Peter's words sank in. He smiled, but it was horrible, like he hated himself. He was still looking more at the wall than at Peter, "I knew you wouldn't, but I had to come anyway," he said quietly. He glanced towards Peter just a little. "I'm having some _issues_ ," he said with a slight twist to his mouth.

Peter nodded, his eyes filled with tears. "Yeah." he could feel himself shaking slightly, he'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted to put his arms around him right now. "After everything, that's probably normal, you know?"

Jared turned slightly further away. "Probably. But it sucks." He paused for a moment and kind of gestured with his hands, although it might have meant anything. "I'll be better. If you just . . ." 

"I'll do whatever you want," Peter said sincerely, but Jared flinched slightly and Peter realised it sounded like a mockery of what he'd said before. "I mean it, you don't have to worry about me. You can take as long as you need."

Jared paused, totally still for a second, he was tense again, his jaw clenched.

"I promise," Peter added. He saw Jared start breathing again, then nod to himself gently.

"I have to go now," Jared said, and he was already opening the door.

"Okay."

Peter sank back onto the bed, and stared after him.

  


* * *

  


Jared knew he was going to do something awfully wrong. He could feel it building inside him. The same feeling he'd had when he tried to escape. He knew what they'd do to him, when they found out. And he knew he was going to do it anyway.

He lay very very still, on the floor next to his bed. He'd been lying there for days, he didn't know how long. He was allowed to get up to go to the bathroom, and to fetch food. So long as he was good the rest of the time, they wouldn't hurt him. 

It was better than the hospital, nobody came and made him break the rules, he didn't have to sleep in the bed, or talk to people. But he saw Peter less. Sometimes he could hear him through the wall when Peter was in his own room, Jared would hear him moving around. Sometimes Peter played his guitar and sang, and Jared would hear him, and that was nearly the same as when he used to visit him in the hospital. 

Jared knew he was being ridiculous. He was acting like a crazy person, and Peter would laugh at him if he knew, if he saw Jared lying here. But everything else was difficult or impossible; lying here was being good, and everything else might get him in trouble. Trouble was sometimes a vague concept in his head now, he still _knew_ they might take him back, whenever they wanted, and he knew how mad they would be, how much they would punish him, that he'd deserve it because he'd broken so many rules. But he also knew they couldn't get to him, not here, so trouble was something else, something he wouldn't expect, something awful. It wasn't worth it, breaking the rules made him tired and confused. It was better to be safe, to be good.

Peter wouldn't leave him. He'd promised. He thought about that a lot, and it felt strange, it was like having a piece of himself back. He shouldn't have gone to Peter's room, but he'd had to, he'd done it without even thinking. And nobody was punishing him yet. It was still better that he didn't see Peter very much, that he didn't have a chance to annoy him. So Peter wouldn't hate him. He'd taken Peter's best friend away, and now he was just a stupid, pathetic, crazy person, who was too scared to leave his room. If Peter knew, he'd hate him. 

Jared wasn't allowed to cry.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

He knew they would take him back. But they were going to take him back anyway. No matter what he did. That went round in his head all day. They would take him back _anyway_. 

He went and sat down next to Peter on the sofa. 

Peter stared at him, and Jared knew he was struggling not to do anything to scare him away. Jared smiled when he saw Peter decide to pretend this wasn't odd, as if it happened every day. Jared pretended too. He asked what Peter was watching and watched with him. It was the second half of a rubbish tv movie about an atomic bomb hidden somewhere in the grand canyon. Pindar came and joined them and Jared liked that as well. When the movie finished he went back to his room, and he was shaking, exhausted, and terrified. 

But nobody came to hurt him.

He couldn't do it every day, but sometimes he would eat with them, or watch tv. Or just sit quietly while the others were working. He liked that best. And after a while it didn't tire him as much. 

He thought perhaps the rules were different here. That it was okay to pretend to be normal, so long as he didn't really forget what he was. So long as he knew he was pretending. When they took him back he'd still know what he was, he'd still know how to be good.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Jared couldn't sleep. He hadn't slept since he came home, not properly. Nightmares woke him up. At first it had felt good. He didn't take the pills the hospital gave him, because he wasn't _supposed_ to sleep, it wasn't allowed. But now he was exhausted, he was exhausted and he couldn't always remember what he was doing, what he was supposed to do, or how he was supposed to be good when no one was there to remind him. He was tired of not knowing, so he took the pills, but they didn't work. There were voices in his head all the time, but so many of them that he couldn't hear them, and they were only quiet when he was with Peter. And he didn't believe them when they said Peter hated him. 

Peter had promised not to leave.

  


* * *

  


Peter was cooking. He looked up as Jared's door opened, and smiled at him. Jared looked at him, and then at Carmen, who was sitting with him. He looked back at Peter for a long moment, and opened his mouth, nearly spoke. But he didn't. He looked at Peter then turned away. He went straight past the bathroom and stood next to Peter's door. Peter's heart flipped and he was there in an instant, opening the door, and following Jared inside. 

"You okay?" Peter bit his lip, he tried not to ask Jared that, even now, but Jared needed something, and Peter was scared he wouldn't know what that was. Jared ignored the question anyway, just stood very still for a while.

Then he turned around and took hold of Peter's hand.

Peter almost pulled away, he'd got so used to avoiding touching him. But Jared squeezed his hand and stayed right there, and Peter felt this ridiculous layer of calm settling over the past few months of panic and worry. He smiled, confused and relieved, and squeezed back. 

Jared was looking at their hands like he'd expected the end of the world, and Peter wondered when he'd last touched anyone. It would have been in the hospital. Over a month ago, one of the doctors probably. Peter stroked his thumb over Jared's palm, and tried to keep his breathing steady so he wouldn't fuck this up.

"You alright there, buddy?" 

Jared nodded, but when he looked up there were tears in his eyes. He pulled Peter a bit closer, and for a split second he put his other hand on Peter's side, and Peter was sure he was going to hug him, but instead he shoved Peter away and backed off. He turned away, and half stepped towards the door. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry . . ." Jared said, and Peter opened his mouth to shush him, tell him it was fine, not to worry, but he went on, his voice cracking, "I'm not allowed, I'm not supposed to . . ."

Peter stared at him. He was shaking, and Peter didn't know what he meant, he sounded destroyed. Peter reached out unthinkingly, put his hand on Jared's shoulder, and Jared spun around and was back in his arms before he knew it. His arms around Peter's neck. 

Peter held him close without thinking but tried to keep his grip light. Jared clung to him, dead silent, barely breathing. His body was almost limp, Peter took his weight easily, hugging him close, holding him steady. He thought his knees were going to buckle, his heart was racing, Jared was lighter than he should be, and smaller, and Peter was terrified of hurting him. But he didn't know how he was ever going to let him go.

Jared stayed there for the longest time, three or four minutes, before he began breathing more heavily and then stood back. Peter swallowed back tears, sure Jared would leave now. But he kept hold of Peter's shirt lightly in one hand. 

"I'm scared, Peter." 

Peter felt hollow, and hurt swarmed through him. His jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists. When Jared flinched at that Peter felt physically sick. He forced his hands to relax, he pulled himself together. "What of?"

Jared frowned like he'd missed the point. "Everything," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm just scared." 

"You don't have to be," Peter whispered. "You're safe now. I won't let anything hurt you."

Jared seemed to breathe that in, but he grimaced a little bit and looked at the floor. 

"I _know_. But I still get scared." 

He looked at Peter, begging him to understand, and Peter tried. 

"What did you mean?" he asked, knowing he probably shouldn't. "That you're not allowed-"

Jared shook his head to stop him, and walked away, but further into the room, not towards the door. "I'm going to say lots of stupid things."

"More than usual, you mean."

Peter could only see the corner of Jared's smile, it was small and aimed at the floor, but it made Peter catch his breath. Jared nodded. "More than usual." He picked up a pillow from the unmade bed. "Can we maybe . . ." 

He looked at Peter and kind of shrugged towards the bed, and Peter nodded dumbly. Jared started to rearrange pillows and straighten the sheets. When Peter didn't join him he looked up, anxious and doubtful. 

"You're sure?" Peter said, "You know we don't have to."

He hated himself for saying it. It wasn't fair to make Jared ask for things twice, this was clearly killing him. He was terrified, and trying not to show it for Peter's sake. He was holding together by a few threads. But Peter couldn't forget Jared standing here, telling him he'd do anything, thinking he had to do anything. He needed Jared to know it didn't all have to come at once.

Jared looked at him for a long moment, deep into his eyes, and Peter looked back silently. Then Jared's eyes cleared, and he turned away and got into bed. 

"You shouldn't make me ask for stuff twice," he said, and his voice had a twang to it, like Peter hadn't heard for months, teasing, kind of warm. But it was also as serious as anything he'd ever said. "It's rude."

Peter was there before he'd finished speaking, climbing in next to him. 

Jared wrapped his arms around Peter in a way that was going to be really uncomfortable after about ten minutes, but for now let them be as close as possible. He rested his head heavily against Peter's chest, and Peter kissed his hair lightly.

"I've wanted this so much," Jared said, after a minute. And Peter didn't ask him why he hadn't taken it sooner. He wanted to say 'me too', but without it sounding accusing. He wanted to say that Jared could always come here, could stay here *forever*, but without it sounding demanding. To say that he was safe here, that Peter wouldn't let anyone hurt him, but without it being the wrong thing to say.

He kissed his hair again, because Jared hadn't objected the first time. "I love you."

That was the right thing to say, because Jared sort of moaned softly, and squeezed him tighter.

They lay really still for a while, until Peter thought Jared must have fallen asleep. But a few minutes later he let out a long broken sigh and murmured, "I think I'm going to cry for a bit." 

He sounded scared again, and his body tensed like he thought Peter might push him away. Peter tried to keep the weird mixture of fear and love and pure hard hatred for Sullivan Thompson all on the inside. 

"Okay."

Jared looked up at him then, his eyes already full but holding it together. "I don't want to talk about it," he said very seriously. 

Peter bit his lip and nodded, too choked to say anything but completely accepting. He watched as Jared's face fell, and he pulled him tight as he started to cry. 

He cried for a long time, sometimes holding Peter close, sometimes pushing him away. He had to sit up sometimes because he couldn't breathe, and he'd blow his nose when Peter handed him a tissue, and he'd apologise and say that he'd go if Peter wanted him to, sometimes he meant to his room, sometimes back to the hospital, but either way Peter would shush him and stroke his hair, his back, and then Jared would press down next to him again, exhausted, and be quiet for a few minutes before sobs overwhelmed him again. 

Peter cried a little bit as well, but whenever Jared noticed he frowned and said he was sorry, and Peter stopped because the things Jared was sorry for didn't make sense. Peter bit back all his questions, and listened to Jared's few broken words whenever they came. 

"I thought they were going to kill me." "I didn't know how long I'd been there." "You weren't there." "They tied me down." "They said if I was good they'd stop." "They'll take me back." "I'll try harder." "I know you miss him." "They made me . . ." That was a sentence he never finished, and Peter held him, and rocked him a little, and stroked him, kissed his hair, whispered that he was safe, that he was going to be okay.

Eventually Jared's words ran out, and he exhausted himself enough to fall asleep. Peter looked at him, wondering if he'd always been this small. Then he fetched blankets from the wardrobe and added them to the bed covers and he curled back around Jared, and tucked him in safely.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter woke up to Jared struggling in his arms, pushing at him, kicking at the covers. Peter hurried to get away from him, scooting backwards to give him space, but Jared caught at the front of his shirt.

"Peter, what the fuck?"

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know. I mean what the fuck is all this?" He'd got untangled from the sheet and started shoving the blankets off him. 

Peter realised he wasn't panicking, he was just trapped by the covers wrapped around him. He helped him pull back first one blanket then a second, and then the comforter. 

When Jared was free and covered only by his soft pyjamas and a sheet, he was suddenly quiet. Peter looked at him and Jared stared back, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear. 

"I didn't mean to . . . I shouldn't have." His voice was a whisper, his breathing was loud. Peter knew he'd scared himself, he stroked Jared's arm softly and Jared watched him do it and took a long deep breath. 

It's alright," Peter said.

Jared shook his head to that, but moved a little closer to Peter all the same. 

After a minute he said, "It's difficult, it's so easy to talk to you, to forget that I'm not supposed to."

Peter thought that was probably one of the stupid things Jared was going to say, so he ignored it. He fought the urge to pull one of the blankets back over Jared.

"Did we have an ice age while I was sleeping?" Jared asked.

"Sorry," Peter said. "They said I had to keep you warm."

Jared looked at him and judged him and Peter felt his heart flip, because it was a perfect expression, one he'd seen since they were nine years old. "It's June," Jared said.

"They said there was a pneumonia risk," Peter murmured, knowing it sounded stupid. "Because of your injuries."

"I've been home for -" He didn't know how long. "Ages. I haven't frozen to death, okay?" 

"I promised the doctor I'd keep an eye on you."

Jared closed his eyes at that. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

Peter shook his head and stroked his fingers through Jared's hair. "No, it's okay."

Jared leaned forward, resting his forehead against Peter's chest and Peter stroked a gentle circle between his shoulder blades. "You alright?"

Jared nodded against his chest. "Better than yesterday," he said. And Peter knew how that felt.

Jared left after that, and went back to his room.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Jared spent three days in his room, just long enough that Peter was sure he would never see him again. But the next day he knocked on Peter's door in the morning, and after some awkward small talk and a few things Peter didn't understand, Jared climbed into bed with him, and cried on him again. 

Afterwards Jared stayed for a while and Peter talked to him. It felt like when he would visit him in the hospital, only a thousand times better because he was allowed to hold his hand, and sometimes Jared joked with him, and his eyes were warm. 

Peter waited as long as he dared. But he could feel that Jared would leave soon, and he needed to say it. "Jared, I have to ask you some questions." 

Jared shook his head, he looked at Peter like he was betraying everything they had ever had, like Jared had always known he would. 

"Not about what happened," Peter said quickly, and Jared narrowed his eyes, then relaxed again, and Peter smiled with relief. "I just need . . . I need to look at you. To see if you're alright. I need to know if your cuts are healed, if your ribs hurt, if your fingers are okay, whether you've been sleeping, if your foot's still bad, where you still hurt, if you get dizzy, if you've been sick, when your last -"

He stopped because Jared was stroking his arm. 

"Oh." Jared looked at him, really softly. "That's okay. Are _you_ alright?"

Peter nodded, although he didn't feel sure. "I just need to talk to you. While you're here." Peter could feel tears building in his eyes again, because he shouldn't ask Jared for anything. He should be looking after him, not asking him for things. But he _needed_ this. "I'm sorry."

Jared stroked his arm again. "It's okay. But you can't touch me." He smiled when Peter moved away immediately, and he pulled him back. "No, I mean. You can't," he sort of shuddered, "examine me or whatever. But you can ask me questions." 

It was difficult. Talking about his injuries obviously made him think about what had happened, it made him quiet, and scared. Peter could feel him drawing away inside, and he hated himself for asking. But he had to, and he couldn't stop. Every worry he'd had since Jared left the hospital came pouring out, and Jared answered them all. He let Peter look at his fingers, and at the bruise on his arm. And Peter slowly reassured himself that he was mending.

Then, when Peter's questions ran down, Jared said that he had to go back to his room. And he said it like he dreaded it, like it was a sentence, and Peter wondered if it was his fault, if Jared would have stayed longer if he hadn't asked. He wanted to ask if Jared would come back, but that didn't seem fair. 

"I love you," he said, instead.

Jared's eyes sparkled at him, and Peter's breath caught in his throat. Jared nodded at him, and Peter's heart pulsed. Then Jared went back to his room, and Peter cried very very quietly so that Jared wouldn't hear him through the wall.

  


* * *

  


Jared stayed in his room for a while, which felt good. Then he went to Peter's room again, and slept in his bed, which felt better. He woke up screaming.

He was huddled on the floor in a corner of the room, he blinked at the light. Peter was standing by the bed, looking terrified, and Jared opened his mouth to tell him it was okay, only to find he was already talking. 

"Please don't, please don't. I'll be good, I promise. I didn't mean to, they made me leave, Peter please don't hurt me, please, you don't have to, I'll be good, just let me go back, please, I'll be good, I won't do it again, I'm sorry, please I'm so sorry," his voice went on and on, telling Peter things, scaring him more. And he couldn't stop. And then suddenly he _knew_ Peter would punish him, he would kick him until he was quiet, and hit him, he'd use a bat or a whip, he'd make Jared choose. Jared couldn't remember how long it had been since they'd beaten him, a long time, they'd make sure it hurt. They'd laugh at him and kick him, until he remembered his place. He was shaking. He wasn't supposed to wear clothes, he wasn't supposed to sleep, he wasn't supposed to want things or to beg, he wasn't supposed to wet himself. He was supposed to remember the rules, he was supposed to be quiet and scared, he wasn't supposed to leave the corner. 

He felt Peter's hand on his shoulder, and he knew it would start, he forced himself to be silent. He went deep inside himself. He waited and it was forever before he realised Peter had picked him up, was putting him back in bed. His head spun. He wasn't supposed to leave the corner.

He woke up more fully a few minutes later, clinging to Peter. Peter was crying, Jared knew from his breathing. He was whispering ridiculous things about love and safe and forever, and Jared _knew_ that he must hate him. He just wasn't saying it. Jared loved him for not saying it. 

After a while Peter noticed that he was awake. 

"Hey," he said, stroking his hair, and Jared looked up at him. He'd wet the bed and it stank, and Peter was holding him tight, as if he'd hardly even noticed. "You're okay, it was a dream," Peter said. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do."

Peter stroked Jared's top, smoothing it down softly.

"I'm sorry," Jared said, and he would have gone on, but Peter kissed his forehead very very lightly.

"Don't be." He held him for a long time, until Jared felt calmer, until he'd almost fallen back to sleep. "You'd better have a shower, Jare." 

He was dirty and he was just lying there, Peter must be disgusted. Jared pushed away and started getting up immediately, climbing out of bed. "I'll clean up," he said, "Oh god, I'm sorry." His face was growing hot with embarrassment as he looked at the sheets, and then at Peter's pyjamas. He started to pull the sheet back, but Peter stopped him. 

"No, I've got it. You have a shower, get cleaned up."

Jared felt a twist of pain, Peter wanted him to leave. He knew that made sense, he was dirty, revolting; Peter hadn't known, but now he realised. Jared nodded, it made sense. But as he left, he paused at the door. The fear was growing, it was strangling him. He didn't want to go back to his room. 

"Peter, I won't . . ." He gestured at the mess and looked at the floor, knowing he should leave, but wanting to say it. "If you let me - not tonight I know - but if you let me come back eventually, I won't do it again, I promise." 

Please, he wanted to say, please don't hurt me, I'll be good, I promise. He swallowed it.

Peter had turned to look at him, he looked confused, and sad. Tired. That made Jared's insides shrink, he should have just left and not made this hard for him. 

"This is fine," Peter said, dismissing the mess. "It doesn't matter." Then he paused and looked away. "Are you . . . you mean you're not coming back? After your shower? Because I'll turn the mattress and . ." Suddenly Jared thought Peter might cry again, but he carried on. "It's fine, you can come back whenever you're ready. But if I did anything wrong, Jared-"

"No," Jared said, proud of himself for how definite he sounded, while his insides were screwing themselves up with guilt and pain. "I'd like to come back." He just said it. As if it was as simple as that. Because he wanted Peter to stop looking sad. And afterwards he felt okay about it. He nodded to himself. 

Peter looked at him, asking if he was sure, but not making him say it again. He looked Peter in the eye, smiled, and felt less scared. Then he took a spare t-shirt and some pyjama bottoms out of Peter's drawer, because he didn't want to go back to his room for some of his own, and he went to have a shower.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

The next time Jared woke up he was warm in Peter's bed, wrapped up in his t-shirt, with Peter right next to him. 

He was scared, and he wanted to go back to his room, to be good. But much much more than that he wanted to stay where he was. He didn't want to wake Peter up. He'd scared him last night, and he wanted to be here with him now. 

Jared realised he wasn't going to leave. 

He was still scared at how easy it was to break the rules when he was with Peter. But it felt good, too. He knew he'd still have to go back to his room, but not until he was ready. He knew eventually they'd take him back anyway. That it would all start again. But it wasn't all he knew any more. He knew other, more rational things, and they felt true and solid.

He pressed against Peter, and Peter hugged him tighter in his sleep. Jared smiled and waited for him to wake up.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Sometimes he still went to his room, he felt more pathetic than ever now, lying on the floor in the dark. Sometimes he lay on the bed. He would stay there for a night, or a day, occasionally two. Sometimes when he was lying there he slept, sometimes he thought about what he would do when he got up again. Sometimes he found he was smiling. Sometimes it still felt like he would never be able to leave again, but he always could. 

Time passed and somehow it actually did help. 

Peter arranged for Doctor Harper to come and see him. He didn't hate her as much now, it was easy talking to her because she already knew everything. She said it was okay that he still went to his room sometimes, and it was okay that he was still scared. He asked her if he'd ever feel normal again, or if it would only ever feel like he was pretending. He asked her if eventually he just wouldn't even remember that this wasn't normal, which was what scared him most. She never really answered him. 

Peter went out sometimes, and that was okay. He started going to the office for a few hours, or to the shops. _(He wouldn't come back, Jared knew he wouldn't come back this time.)_ He always came back, and sometimes he'd call on some pretence, to check if they needed something, or to remind them of something, so that Jared could hear his voice. And Carmen and Pindar were usually around, and that was surprisingly easy. _(They probably hated him, they'd tell Peter they hated him and he'd have to leave.)_ They talked to him like he was fine, and didn't seem to mind when he wasn't. 

It got easier to ignore being scared, to push it to one side. Easier to pretend.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

"Jare?"

Jared rolled over to look at Peter on the other side of the bed. Peter's tone was casual, and he didn't look directly at him. Which meant he was going to ask him something difficult _(to leave, to go back to his room, to move out)_ , Jared took his hand, waiting to find out what was wrong.

Peter smiled apologetically, and made a hand gesture that Jared couldn't interpret. "Is it easier for you being over there at the moment? You're okay?"

Sleeping on the other side of the bed was new. It felt pretty good. It felt like he was getting better, it felt like he wouldn't ruin Peter's life forever. It felt pathetic that he was proud of sleeping about a foot away from his best friend, rather than an inch.

He smiled at him. "Yeah, I'm okay." And he watched Peter's careful lack of reaction, and small meaningless nod, and knew that wasn't the right answer at all.

"Okay," Peter said, without sounding okay. He let go of Jared's hand. "Because if you need sometimes . . . You know you can just say. Even if it's just for a minute or two."

Jared waited about three tenths of a second before closing the gap between them. Except Peter didn't quite let him. He held him by his arm.

"Don't, Jared. Fuck." He pushed him away, about as gently as possible. _(He was never going to touch Jared again, that was what this meant.)_ "You know you don't have to, I didn't mean that you had to, I'm okay."

Jared stared at him. "You literally just said I could." 

"If you wanted to, I said."

Jared just waited for Peter to give in, and sighed with relief as Peter's arms folded around him. Not making him ask for stuff twice was something Peter had taken to heart. Peter's arms tightened around him, and he was rocking him slightly. 

"I'm sorry," Peter said. "Just for a minute, okay? You were just gone for so long, and I didn't know where you were." Jared blinked at that, because he'd been right here all day, then he realised Peter was crying and worked out they were talking about more than just today. 

"Oh." Jared held him tighter. 

"But I don't need, I mean you don't have to do this, I know it's difficult . . . you don't like being touched."

Jared had been sleeping right here for nearly a month, but he supposed Peter was allowed to be stupid sometimes too.

"Dude," he said, "You don't have to worry as much, I'm getting better. I can deal if sometimes you want to-" he tripped over the word 'cuddle' "-hug me. I could say no." 

"Okay," Peter agreed. He breathed deeply. "I just didn't know if you were ever going to come back."

Jared kissed Peter's throat. He didn't know anything he could say to that. He'd never thought he would. 

After a while Peter calmed down. He started letting go of him again, but Jared just quietly didn't let him.

"I'm staying here."

Peter nodded, he pulled a pillow in to make Jared more comfortable, and tucked a blanket around him. 

"Sorry for being stupid."

"If we have a competition over who's been most stupid in the past few months, I'm going to win."

"Well, if we have a competition over who has the best reasons for being stupid, you'll win that too."

"I'm going to win all the competitions," Jared agreed, sleepily.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

"You can ask me if you want to," Jared said. He'd been trying to say it for days, but somehow he usually didn't. 

"Ask you what?" Peter pulled his sweatshirt off, and started looking in a drawer for a clean t-shirt to wear to bed. 

"About what they did." 

Peter froze. Then he pulled a t-shirt on at random, and came over. Jared was sitting cross-legged on the bed, in his pyjamas. Peter sat next to him and stroked Jared's arm with the back of his fingers. 

"You okay?"

Jared nodded, and felt tears prick his eyes. He'd thought about this, about what he would say. In his mind he was always clear and concise, and now he was shaking and already crying. But he needed this.

"I think I need to," he said. "You don't have to say anything, I just want you to know."

He knew he said things. He still had nightmares, and he still cried, and he knew he said things that Peter didn't understand. He wanted Peter to know what he meant sometimes.

"Okay," Peter said, and he sounded scared. 

Jared nodded, and moved away from him. He turned slightly. He couldn't do this looking at Peter, or having Peter look at him. Peter got the idea, and moved backwards so he was sitting against the headboard, his legs stretched out. Jared was angled away from him, but with his knee pressing against Peter's leg. 

Jared took a deep breath. "How much do you know?" 

Peter sighed. "They told me about your injuries. Before you woke up. You'd been . . beaten. Regularly." His voice was hoarse. "Kicked. Your fingers were broken, and your ribs. You'd been cut with a knife. You'd hardly eaten, and you had . . . there were sores on your wrists, your throat, from a rope. They said -" he paused very briefly, and swallowed, "you hadn't . . they told me there wasn't evidence of sexual assault, but they didn't know." 

Jared could hear Peter trying not to sound too desperate for confirmation, trying not to make it difficult for Jared to contradict him. 

He nodded, because they hadn't, not really. He tried to breathe properly. 

"I can't tell you everything," he said. "I don't think I _remember_ everything."

And he started to tell him, trying to remember the important things, the things he needed him to know. 

"When they took me, they put me in the van. We were there for ages. Four of them. They stripped me straight away, they put a knife to my throat, they said I was going to be their . . . that they owned me now." 

He turned and looked at Peter, and Peter looked right back at him and Jared knew he could tell him just anything. 

He told him how he'd fought them, to start with, hit at them and struggled, and they'd laughed and told him he would learn to be good. He told Peter how he had learned to be good. They kept him with a rope around his neck to tie him to the wall. His wrists were tied. They kept him in the corner. They kicked him awake whenever he slept. But they kicked him when he was awake too, if he looked at them, if he didn't, if he made a noise, or if he didn't answer them, if he broke any of the rules. Jared couldn't explain all the rules, he barely remembered them, they were so important, but he hadn't been clever enough to understand them. They had a bat and a belt. They hit him whenever he misbehaved, especially if he didn't know what he'd done wrong. He tried so hard to be good. But it was hard. They beat him if he thought about things, things he wasn't allowed, if he remembered things. They always knew. They hit him, or they hosed him with freezing cold water, he thought he would freeze to death, he hoped for it. They kicked him when he shivered. 

They'd broken his fingers when he tried to escape, Sullivan had done it. He didn't try again, he shouldn't have tried, he'd barely got outside, and they would always find him again. They tested him. They would leave, but they would know if he was bad while they were gone. He had to be good. If he wasn't they said they would kill him. They described how and it was different every time. They described everything they would do to him. They made him beg them to kill him and then beg them not to, thank them for looking after him, thank them for loving him even though he was disgusting. 

They only fed him when he was very good, when he said everything they wanted, without prompting, when he didn't break any of the rules. They gave him water in a bowl, and they took him outside to use the bathroom. Except sometimes they didn't and when he wet himself they-

Jared thought he was going to be sick, he'd just been talking without thinking, and now he didn't know what he'd said. He needed Peter to know things. So he could stop worrying about when he found out. But it was disgusting, everything he'd done. He knew Peter would never be able to look at him again. 

Peter leaned forward and touched his back. He said it was okay, Jared could stop whenever he needed to, he was here now, he was safe. His voice was shaking, but warm. Jared knew he was safe; that he could tell Peter anything.

\- they pissed on him. They made him say he liked it. They laughed at him all the time, and made him say all sorts of things, disgusting things about what he liked, what he wanted. They made him beg them to kick him or hit him or piss on him. And then thank them when they did. They told him how disgusting he was. That was why he was there. Because nobody else could bear to be near him. They said things Jared knew were true, he deserved this, it was all he was worth, they'd taken him because they _knew_ what he was, he hadn't fooled anyone, a real man wouldn't let them do this, wouldn't cry, wouldn't beg. 

Eventually Peter moaned and he sat forwards, he put a hand on Jared's waist, and slowly Jared moved back towards him, and Peter could put his arms around him, holding him back against his chest. 

"I had to be good," Jared said again and again, begging Peter to understand. "I couldn't stop them. I didn't sleep. I thought I'd been there for months. Everything else seemed so long ago, so far away. I thought I would just stay there forever, I thought I'd _been_ there forever. It was only three weeks."

Jared ran out of words. He was holding Peter's hand hard against his chest. He hated making Peter cry.

"I should have been there." 

Jared shook his head sharply, no, that didn't make _any_ sense. He didn't want Peter to see him like that, he didn't want him to be near Sullivan, he didn't want Peter to be there. 

"I should have found you."

Jared shook his head again. "No. There wasn't anything you could do." 

Peter wiped some of his own tears away, and then stroked Jared's hair. He pulled him around, and lay down with him, letting Jared cry against his chest, quieter now, until he ran out of steam. He rocked him for a long time. 

Jared waited as long as he could, before speaking. "Tell me you don't hate me."

Peter's arms tensed around him, holding him tighter, stronger. "Of course I don't hate you." He was clearly struggling with talking, so he just said it again. "Of course I don't." It sounded good enough, to Jared.

"It's okay that I told you?"

Peter nodded and kissed him a few times. Jared's chest hurt too much to cry any more. 

They'd got used to crying on each other, they'd weeded out any awkwardness that came after. When they were both breathing properly again Jared sat up, and Peter let him. 

"I'm going to the loo," Jared said, and he left, knowing he could come back, knowing Peter wanted him to. 

He washed his face in the bathroom, looking at the place on the mirror where Peter used to leave him post-it notes. It felt like that was forever ago. He wondered if Peter had any idea how much they'd helped. He didn't know how you thanked someone for keeping you sane.

  


* * *

  


Peter got into bed, waiting for Jared to come back. His hands were shaking, and he tried to pull himself together, taking deep breaths, trying desperately to think of things that weren't Jared scared and hurt. All he could think about were all the things he'd been doing for those three weeks, sitting around, sleeping and eating, doing _nothing_ , when Jared had been _there_. 

When Jared got back Peter was in bed, under the covers, but he looked serious and Jared felt a million voices inside telling him the worst things possible. Peter smiled at him when he saw, and held out his hand. Jared lay down and Peter stroked him for a second, perfect reassurance in his touch. 

"I know you're tired," Peter said, "But I want to ask you something."

Jared felt drained, but he knew Peter wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. 

"Okay."

"Sometimes you . . say that I miss someone. The other night you said I hated you for taking him away."

"You know I say stupid things," Jared said, and he stopped. 

Peter would have let him stop, knew that he probably should. But it was one of the worst things Jared said, 'I know you hate me'. 

"Just tell me what you mean. Who you mean."

"Me. The old me, from before. I know . . ." Jared refused to start crying again. "I know you wish I was . . . him again." Jared tried really hard to stop talking. "I know you loved him."

He tried to smile, to prove that he knew how stupid it sounded, that Peter didn't need to say anything, that it was okay, because he knew he wasn't the person Peter loved any more, Peter didn't have to pretend any more. He tried to show how grateful he was that Peter let him stay here anyway, and looked after him.

"Dude." Peter stared at him, trying to find the right words to say how wrong that was, how unbearably, entirely, wrong. "I did love him, I do. I love _you_. I could _never_ not love you. What they did to you was . . ." He gave up. "But you'll always be _you_. And there isn't anything anyone could do that would make me, you know, make me not love you." 

Peter wasn't blushing, but he stumbled a bit towards the end, he didn't know if that was a ridiculous thing to say, but he meant it so he didn't care. 

And Jared _knew_ he meant every word. He smiled helplessly, and Peter smiled too. Then Jared realised tears were rolling down his cheeks again. He ducked his head and wiped them away on Peter's shirt.

They lay quietly for a long time, Jared ached from crying earlier. He felt hollow and his breath was still shaky. But he thought about what Peter had said, holding it deep inside, fitting it into the other things he knew. He made it a part of him.

It was a little while before he spoke again.

"You'd love me no matter what?"

Peter nodded firmly.

"Okay. What if I seduced Marisa Tomei?" 

Peter settled, arms warm around him and smiled. His voice was sleepy. "Did you sleep with her?"

"Yep. I asked her out, took her dancing, wrote her poetry, we went back to her place and made sweet love while birds sang in the trees and rainbows danced across the hills, orchestras played, the whole shebang."

"Apparently Marisa Tomei has terrible taste in poetry."

"But you wouldn't mind?"

"Obviously I would mind. I meant, you know, anything reasonable."

"Dude, you're a lawyer, you should be more precise." Jared considered things. "Okay then. What if I apologised?"

Peter stroked the back of Jared's neck. "I don't know if I could just get over that."

"I'd send you a gift basket."

"I'd think about it."

"A really nice one. And I'd take out advert space in all the major papers."

Peter tilted his head like he was considering.

Jared smiled. He stroked Peter's hair, and pulled him down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I love you."

Peter only looked a little bit surprised. This was something that happened sometimes now. They both liked hearing the words. He kissed him back just as softly. "Love you, too."

Jared nodded. "I think you'd forgive me," he said, and turned over so that he could sleep with his back to Peter's chest, Peter's arms warm around him. 

"Probably," Peter said with a shrug.


End file.
